| Overnight Postal Service |
| Summary: | Lucienne pays a very late night visit to Amelia with a request. |
| Date: | 08 August 2011 |
| Related Logs: | Amelia Leaving |
| Players: |
  |
| Amelia's Room — Rockcliff Inn |
|---|
| The room's size indicates that it was likely an afterthought and was probably used for storage at one point. It is barely large enough for the twin bed to fit turned width across underneath the window at the end. The periwinkle sheets and wool blanket show signs of heavy, loving patchwork in a valiant attempt to continue using what was once probably a noble's discarded trash. A heavily used and abused dresser has been polished as much as possible but some things just cannot be saved that way. Personal trinkets dot the dresser top in front of the mirror and around the wash basin. An old, decrepit armor hanger has had several hooks pounded into it and is now used for a couple flowing dresses and shawls. Several boxes of herbs are stacked neatly beneath the bed and the room smells much like a flower garden though it lacks heat and likely could get very cold some nights. |
| IC Date |
When Amelia opens the door, she is significantly cleaner. The woman has bathed extensively since her return here. She's wearing a patchwork wool robe, her name stitched in the left breast. Behind her, the contents of the room have jumbled. There is a stack of quite fine dresses lain out on her bed with her jewelry dumped onto the dresser and sorted into types of metal they are made of. The whore's face though looks blank and her eyes seem quite devoid of life, as if it has been sucked out of her. A blink at the face greeting her seems to stall her mind, though, before her words are found: "Lady Lucienne?" She's surprised, though her tone is flat.
"Miss Amelia." Lucienne looks nothing if out of place in an establishment like this, even her worst cloak which she'd refused to shed upon entering better than the best of most of the residents. She forgoes a veil, and her hair braids are rather more simple than usual, the bulk of the lengths of her hair left free under her cloaks hood, which she now folds back. In one hand can be noted a roll of parchment. "I shan't tarry long, as I haven't the time or the inclination. You are leaving the Roost tomorrow, is this correct?" If she has with her a sworn sword for protection, he is lingering back beyond earshot - perhaps even outside.
Amelia stares at the woman and her manner. Its the same blank look of someone running without anyone holding the reins. But she blinks away from the woman's dress and hair and looks down to her hand and back up. "Apologies." For living here. "Yes, I'll be going for good. I've caused enough problems for your family. Is there something I can do in the meantime?"
"Don't be silly," the noblewoman responds, frowning and shaking a hand dismissively. There isn't time to dwell upon the improper means a whore lives within, and why a Lady shouldn't be seen near such. Insensitive, really. But necessary. "I hope your wounds are healing now that they've been attended?" There is, at least, time for that pleasantry, asked with due concern. Rushed in before an answer can be given: "Are you going via Stonebridge?" Pause enough thereafter for an answer to both.
Judging by the angry-looking red bruise, accented by the four black and blue knuckle marks, on her left cheek.. it is healing. Its not swelling. "I'm in pain. I will not be sleeping on my back. It hurts less than it did, though. Thank you." For asking. She twitches her lips on the right side of her face as if the remarks might have elicited a smile and her face forgot how. "I will be in Stonebridge for a few days, yes. Then I will be passing on. My hope is to see my friend, the Lady of Stonebridge before I go."
Lucienne notes the nasty bruise with a wince, knowing full well from whence it came. She breathes out long, almost a sigh. "I'm sorry for your injuries." However short her manner, this much seems at least sincere of tone. There's another, more drawn-out silence from the lady before she asks in a manner so frank as to only be construed as urgent, "Did you mean it?"
The whore watches the reaction with the same blank stare. She has seen it on everyone's face when she walked through the front door to the Inn and was told she was fired… A point abundantly clear on everyone's ears in that room of silence. "There is no need for apologies, my Lady. I have been beaten much worse before, for far less." There is another of those awkward twitches of her lips, but the last question gets her eyes to finally look down and away. "I meant what I told you before I found out what I had done. Now I just want to die, my Lady. I care not for my injuries. I care only for the damage and pain I have inflicted upon your brother and family. My hope is to minimize damage by leaving." If that's what she meant by the question.
"I think it best for all concerned that you leave," says Lucienne in earnest reply, with a crisp nod. "I would not wish you dead though, Miss Amelia. You can be very certain that if any of us did, you surely would be by now." The look on her face, eyes wide and epectant, suggests that is not of what she speaks. "In the dungeon." The word even draws a shudder from the lady, conjuring as it does that mental image. "You mentioned owing me a favour. Did you mean it?" She taps the roll of parchment against her hand gently; a favour is needed.
That is likely what Amelia was expecting to hear. "Do not worry yourselves. I can take care of everything on my own. Stay the swords if it becomes a topic." Its the same flat monotone of a person who has reached the end. No overt request for help. But her own words at least carry that chilling asurrance. Like a disgraced knight taking care of the problem for his leige lords. Ah, though, the dungeon. "Yes. A favor. If I said I did, then I do. What would you like me to do for you? Deliver something?" There is a glance to the roll.
If Lucienne was worried, it is assuaged now. She has but an apologetic smile for Amelia's response. Her own, however, is not given before a cursory glance of the hall. A hushed tone, too, and the lady leans in to speak. "I am aware that the favour I ask of you far exceeds my good deeds." Large brown eyes search the whore's face for any twitch, before settling upon her own in a desperate stare. "Your consent will not go unrewarded. I have a letter, it needs delivering to the Lady of Stonebridge, Isolde Tor- Nayland. Isolde Nayland. You may refuse me, Miss Amelia of Seagard, but if you accept to deliver it I will see that your return to Terrick's Roost holds not only a welcome, but whatever gainful employment you should seek."
Amelia just listens with the same slack, her eyes on the woman outside her room. "House Terrick has something it requires, it is not a personal favor. It is my obligation." Rather than finding a twitch, that's what her initial response is. Her own voice is low to match the other woman's. "As I said, she is a friend, my Lady. I will see her. I will deliver whatever you requireand it will be done discreetly." The point of employment brings her a pause. "You will not see me again, my Lady. I hate whoring and everything about it. My skills do not lend themselves to normal jobs, anyway. I've lost my family and what I love." Amelia returned a sizable chunk of a treasury — something she could have kept and likely gotten away with it. A whore that may sell pleasures, but her integrity and soul cannot be sold for stags or gold dragons. "Save your promises, my Lady. If you want to repay me, find a girl in danger of becoming a whore and save her. Take her and protect her. Give her a skill or some education." Amelia apparently has no use for gainful employment anymore.
"She is better than a sister to me," speaks Terrick's daughter, a solemnly as can be. "This letter is not sent by the House Terrick. It bears no seal, and should the Seven's great will see it intercepted, bears nothing to trace it back to my family or myself." The favour is personal, make no mistake. "It is not of my hand, but it is of my mind, and I would you instruct the Lady Isolde as such: this letter is penned from the girl who saw her touch the stag." Cryptic, and possibly interpreted as something to do with money? Nevertheless. "I would hope that I see you again, Miss Amelia. I would hope that you could convey a reply, should one come. And for that, I will pledge a thousand girls' lives taken from the night and given to the day. Do you understand what I ask?"
The whore listens, dropping her eyes as she takes in all the instructions. "I understand. Do not be concerned with it falling to the Naylands or anyone else. I have done things like this before and have become quite good with hiding parchment. You might be surprised what can be hidden in plain sight or even in your hair." Her eyes lift and the last hs her lips tremble. "If there is a reply to be had, I will try. But help us, my Lady. Just one is a life saved from horrors you will never imagine. Most of us are beyond hope once we start. Just one. I ask no miracles, only your kindness to a single girl when you can spare the time and money. Bid me no payment or favors otherwise but your knowledge of my service."
Quite deliberately, Lucienne makes a cup of her free hand and holds it out to one side. Her opposing hand holds the parchment, a narrow length thickly rolled and closed with an indescriminate white dob of wax bearing no seal, which she extends towards Amelia. "From the night, to the day." That is the exchange here, should the other woman accept. The quiet demeanour of Jaremy's sister takes on a whole new dimension when she speaks thus, authoritative and strong, where she is usually interpreted as submissive and supportive. "You, too, Amelia. I am taking you from the night. You are a woman of too much, to be spent so. Have you need of anything for the road? I expect a reply. I would be disappointed to learn the Lady of Stonebridge is other than who I know her to be."
Ameli takes the parchment and holds it gingerly in one hand. Her eyes dirft over it for a moment, but there is no curiousity to them. No unsaid turnmoil of the mind that could only be satisfied by peeking. This is work. There is something, perhaps oddly, professional about it. She may not fully understand what is going on but she does not question it either. To the last question, she simply shakes her head. "No, my Lady. I am in the process of giving away everything I own. Adding to it would just make it awkward. However, I shall see if I can bring a reply. Where shall I deliver it? And to whom?" Despite all of the current situation surround the whore's mind, she still holds that same dead look to her.
Lucienne seems almost reluctant to let go of the thing, but surrenders it in her own measure. "Deliver it to… ay, me." The lady hasn't thought this much through, it seems, her eyes unfocussing again as cogs whirl in her brain. "Oh…"
Amelia glances at the parchment but it is plain she cannot read it. Just by the glance, there is not even a look at the poor handwriting. The whore just probably does not read well, if at all. When it is finally released, the parchment is kept rolled and held to her chest in one hand. "I will likely not be allowed access to the tower, my Lady." She's persona non grata. "I will see you brought to me or have it delievered by someone I trust. Arrangements like these are not difficult if you know what needs to be done." She pauses a few more moments. "Will there be anything else?" The same flat tone of her voice goes with the blank stare.
"Goodness no, don't bring it straight to the tower," agrees Lucienne, a hand lifted to her cheek with worry. "See me brought to you. Send someone… anyone… with word to the tower that there's a new… girl in town." She just can't bring herself to utter the word. "The way the guards talk, it won't take long for me to hear. I'll meet you after sundown and the evening meal, in the alley between the better baker and the worse butcher." An obvious enough descriptor for any local. As for anything else… "If you can do this, Amelia, I will be indebted. As you ask, I will see to it that as many girls as I can find are rescued." She offers a series of short, enthusiastic nods, and starts to recloak her hair. "I must away, Amelia. Gods speed you; may they keep you. I hope to meet with you again soon." She turns on her heels, intending to scurry back to her sworn guard and the tower as soon as possible, hopefully not even missed.
